Nesten Valhalla
by What's Past is Prologue
Summary: "...Standing on unsteady legs, she crossed the icy, knee deep water. She planned to take a different route. Unwittingly, further into Cheyenne territory, closer to the burgeoning Union Pacific Railroad, and the city of Hell on Wheels."
1. En

Author's Note/Disclaimer:

I don't own Hell on Wheels or any of the characters created by Joe and Tony Gayton. It's been a while since I've done this; I'm feeling a bit rusty. Any feedback would be much appreciated. This is just for fun, but if anyone has any notes or suggestions I'd love to hear 'em! Hope you enjoy.

En

"The Lincoln Argus: A Weekly Newspaper, devoted to the Interests of the Laboring Classes and Advocating the Truth in Every Issue"

– Lincoln, Nebraska November 24, 1865. No. 33

"Missouri River, Nov. 10, 1865. The survivors of the Niobara River Massacre arrived in Lincoln last week, 8 in number, namely Reverend Jeremiah Clawson, wife, and three children; Mrs. Shepstone and child, and Miss. Reith. Of 19 emigrants only 8 are known to be saved. Three children (two girls and one boy) are supposed to be taken prisoner by the Indians. One of the girls was supposed to be 14 or 15, the boy younger. All the others are expected killed or of death due to starvation. The emigrant Mr. Joshua Boelter of Richmond with wife Hanna and 2 children, sister, and mother are among the dead. Their bodies were found…"

Durant fumbled to fold the paper, pages loudly crinkling. Balling it into his fist, he threw it to the floor of the train car; his teacup rattling on its saucer as he slammed his hands down onto the desk. Henri jumped at the outburst; and quickly looked down at his feet, when Durant noted his surprise. "Such stories turn my stomach so early in the morning".

Mrs. Bell had yet to rise. It had only been a few days since he'd rescued the 'Fair Haired Maiden of the West' from the clutches of those pursuing her. With President Johnson's support, and further investment from various Congressmen in Washington, his endeavor would prove to cultivate the American west and perhaps put a stop to the thoughtless killing of American emigrants, and entrepreneurs like himself.

Forty miles stood in his way. Thomas Durant was a businessman. Great wealth stood to be made with the completion of this railroad, and yet the men of Washington did little to secure its success. It was incomprehensible how they could stand by, sitting on their hands, turning a blind eye to the _innocent_ American pioneers and frontiersman slaughtered at the hands of an uncivilized hoard. Manifest Destiny was an ideology the Republicans had presented, but now in the face of adversity seemed hard-pressed to pursue.

Durant's new foreman, Bohannon, had assured him he would get his forty miles, within weeks, days even. Whatever dubious means this mysterious rebel had in mind would prove meaningless if Durant was unable to locate Robert Bell's maps. The maps would guarantee passage through the Rocky Mountains, without a plan there would be no railroad. By the time new survey men could be brought to Hell on Wheels, and then sent to explore the terrain, Durant would be out of time; this of course was assuming they were not attacked by the _blood thirsty_ natives first. Not even Mrs. Bell's lovely smile could assuage the pang that thought caused in his gut. Thomas Durant was not accustomed to failure.

The screams echoed behind her as she ran through the trees, twigs snapped under her feet and scraggy branches snagged and scratched at her pale skin. Towards the river, the rush of water barely audible in the distance; there she would wait, quiet in the cool autumn fog, until it was safe.

Her mother's hands had clasped at her skirts; the light dying in her eyes, as her mouth, filled with blood, and gaped to form words. The booming sound of rifles firing all around her caused an excruciating squeal in her ears, muting the screams, making them sound like whispers in the midst of the chaos. The violent scene seemed to slow as the tight grip on her dress slowly released. Her mother was dead. It had happened so fast. They had been washing. She looked down at the lye, still sticky on her trembling fingers. Men had started falling all around her, left and right. Women and children were screaming; she had lost sight of Hanna and the children. She stood and ran to their tent.

Joshua was there, bleeding, packing his gun, with shaking hands, his knuckles white on the barrel. "Nora, I have to find Hanna. I want you to run to the river, as fast as you can. Don't come back here. Wait for us there. Do you hear me? Nora, look at me! Is mother…?"

She nodded dazedly, and looked down at the bloody patches at the hem of her dress. Joshua stood still as he took in his sister's emotionless expression. He peered forward through the tent flaps, grabbing the top of her arm hard, shaking her. "You have to run, Nora. Fast. Don't come back." As he hauled them both into the morning sunlight he was instantly struck in the chest with an arrow. "Run, Nora!"

Nora ran until she was out of the camp, until there were no open fields, until all she saw were grey barked trees, and all she heard were the crunch of dead leaves under her feet. She ran until her ribs ached, and her nose and throat burned like fire from the cold. She hadn't looked back, and hadn't heard their attackers give chase. She was close. She could hear the river; feel the earth change under her feet, the crisp leaves were now shifting stones. Unsteadily they rolled her, as she slipped and slid down the river bank, twisting an ankle as she landed with her boots in the shallow, frigid water. There she'd wait, damp and alone, for Joshua to find her.

She lay there, still against the river rocks, breath coming in uneven gasps, heart pounding in her chest, and the roar of blood coursing through her ears. She could feel the cold water of the creek soaking her stockings and sloshing inside her shoes. Sticky blood dried quickly on her hands, but whose blood she couldn't recall. She wanted it off, she rubbed at it hard, too afraid to stick her hands in the cold water. She shook so badly she was afraid her movement would announce her location to the enemy. So, she waited, straining to hear more screams, waiting to smell the smoke of her kinsmen's rifles. But there was no sound, no familiar metallic scent. They had been miles from Lincoln. She knew she should walk back towards the city she'd come from, but she'd have to pass through the camp, and what if Joshua brought Hanna and the children to the river after she left? Surely they would continue away from Lincoln? The thought of feeling her way through the darkening woods, back towards the lifeless body of her mother and perhaps of her brother and his family was unbearable.

Standing on unsteady legs, she crossed the icy, knee deep water of the creek. She planned to take a different route. Unwittingly, further into Cheyenne territory, closer to the burgeoning Union Pacific Railroad, and the city of Hell on Wheels.


	2. To

Author's Note/Disclaimer:

I don't own Hell on Wheels or any of the characters created by Joe and Tony Gayton. It's been a while since I've done this; I'm feeling a bit rusty. Any feedback would be much appreciated. This is just for fun, but if anyone has any notes or suggestions I'd love to hear 'em! Hope you enjoy.

To

Every step was agonizing; the pain in her ankle causing bile to rise into her throat, as she held it down with hard, purposeful swallows. When they were attacked, Nora had been washing her day clothes. She put her thickest wool dress and petticoat on; she'd chosen her thick wool stockings, so she could wash her thin cotton pair. She'd sweated that morning in the sun even though her hands were submerged in the icy water. Now she was thankful.

She'd taken off her stockings and dried them, and while her feet were no longer frozen, she could feel the painful blisters, tender at her heels. She'd ripped strips of her petticoat to wrap them after the first two days of walking. She hadn't eaten since _that morning_. She'd been able to find streams almost every day to quench her thirst. Seeing her mother's blood on her skirt had been too much. She'd used two rocks from one of those streams to scrub and scrape at the stain. It left the hem with a pink tinge, but it was better than the deep red it had been. Nora and her mother had been laundresses during the war. She'd been fortunate to find work in Richmond, when so many people were starving. She thought of her brother Joshua, the way he'd looked when he came home. Covered in dried blood, months' worth, barely one hundred pounds, a shell of the man he'd been when he went off to war. He might be dead now. The thought had crossed her mind, but she didn't want to consider it at length. She hadn't cried yet. She couldn't, not when she had to live. It had been four days, almost four nights. She was beginning to think she'd starve before she found help. She was tired, slowing down. She thought to lie down in a field and rest for the night. She didn't wake with the sunrise as she'd planned.

Bolan was halfway to the tree-cutting party, he'd been sent to follow Cullen Bohannon. The Swede was still intent on seeing him hang for Johnson's murder. His horse jerked him to the left, away from a small form in the grass. Something grey was lying still in front of him. He dismounted, and held the reigns as he walked slowly towards it, hand resting on his holster as he nudged the form with his foot. He rolled it over, and dropped to his knees when he saw it was a young woman. He leant down and placed his ear at her chest, she was breathing but barely. He lifted her up into his arms and placed her limp form on the horse long enough to mount behind her.

Her pale skin was sun burnt and blistered, glistening in the mid afternoon sun. Her breath was shallow and her head lolled on his shoulder as he pulled her tighter against his chest. This wasn't a woman from Hell on Wheels. There was a bit of blood on her skirts, but it was clear it hadn't come from her; she was uninjured. This didn't look like an Indian attack, but there were no settlements between Hell on Wheels and Lincoln. Where had she come from?

Bolan thought about taking her to The Swede's caboose, asking him what he should do with the dying girl. If she'd been one of the whores who'd wandered away from the camp, thought she'd make it on her own and run into trouble, he may have. This girl was different. She was dirty from walking, and he could see tufts of cloth sticking out of her boots, she'd been at it for days. She was coming towards Hell on Wheels not walking away from it. Bolan thought she didn't look to be a lady like Mrs. Bell, but she wasn't a whore either. This one Durant would want to know about. She was weak; she'd be dead soon. He brought her to the Pullman instead.

Bolan balanced her on the horse as he jumped off, and she slowly slumped down into his arms again. He struggled up the steps and banged on Durant's door with his foot.

The Swede jerked the door open with an affronted look. _What_ was Bolan doing there; he knew to come to him before ever bothering Durant. However, he immediately noted the limp body in his arms, and stepped back so that Bolan could step into the cabin. Durant stood from his desk, "Who is it, Mr. Swede?"

"Mr. Bolan, Sir. But I don't…"

Bolan interrupted, "Mr. Durant, Mr. Swede, I was just ridin' out to the tree cutting party," Durant gave the Swede a hard look. He'd just finished explaining to him that Mr. Bohannon had informed him of his trip the previous morning, and that his behavior had been above board. The Swede had already had the foreman followed by one of his 'henchmen'.

"Well lay the lady down, man!" Durant said, moving out of Bolan's way so he could lay her across a settee near his desk.

"Well, I was ridin' out there, and I saw this shape in the grass and when I got down off the horse I saw it was this woman. She looks like she been walkin' for days, and I'm familiar with…I know which women live here in Hell on Wheels, Sir. She ain't one of 'em." The Swede leaned down on a knee next to the settee, to feel for her pulse, as Durant scrambled towards the second compartment of the Pullman.

"Henri, get the doctor!" Lilly's head jerked up in surprise at him.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Durant?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Bell. One of our men found an injured woman between us and our tree cutting party." Henri had already left to fetch the physician, when Lilly leapt up from the chair to come into Durant's office.

She moved quickly to The Swede and tried to feel for the girl's pulse as well, as he stood slowly, "She has a pulse, Mrs. Bell. But it is very weak." He muttered as she nervously felt her forehead.

Durant grasped Lilly's arm gently, "Mrs. Bell, perhaps your ordeal over the past few weeks has left you overwrought. I've called for the doctor, there is little any of us can do until then, if you'd like to go lie down…"

Lilly interrupted him, as she sat on the settee next to the young woman's body. "I'll stay with her until the doctor arrives. Where did you find her?"

Mr. Bolan addressed her as The Swede came to stand next to him. "About seven miles from here, Ma'am. Just lyin' in a field."

A knock at the Pullman, Henri had brought the doctor. "What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Durant? Ah, Mrs. Bell are you feeling…" Before Lilly could answer the doctor saw the dying woman sprawled across the settee.

"Dear Lord." He crossed the room quickly to take her pulse, and feel her chest, but he couldn't properly palpate.

Seeing the impediment to the examination, The Swede moved across the room swiftly, pushing past Mrs. Bell as he fumbled at the buttons on the girl's wool dress, revealing a taupe, sweat stained shift beneath. All of them had noted the thick wrappings that trailed out from under her heavy skirts. The Swede moved to her legs to unlace her plain leather boots, and unwrap her feet. "Thank you, Mr. Swede".

The doctor continued his ministrations, checking the girl's clumsily wrapped feet, before sighing and turning to Mr. Durant and the others. "She's very weak. She needs to rest and to eat. There's no telling when she'll wake, but we need to try and get her drinking and at least taking broth as soon as possible, she's badly dehydrated. I have a salve I can give for the sores on her face and neck; they can also be applied to her feet. "Does anyone know who this poor girl is?"

The doctor's question was met with silence in the cabin. He cleared his throat. "Well, Sir." His comment directed at Durant, "This young woman is going to need much attention, and her condition could rapidly deteriorate if any of these sores become infected. It is a wonder that they haven't as long as I expect she was traveling. If I may be so bold, Sir. Housing her in one of the camp tents could very likely be the death of her. I'd suggest keeping her in one of the more habitable train cars."

Durant looked quickly around the room, searching for a solution. "Mrs. Bell is staying in my guest compartment."

Lilly tried to interject, "Mr. Durant, if this woman needs to stay, I feel quite well, and she could…"

"Mr. Gundersen, she can stay in your cabin. I could arrange for you to stay somewhere if you…"

The doctor interrupted, "Mr. Durant, perhaps it would be best for the young woman to have your head of security close to her, until we know where she's from and perhaps why she was traveling in such haste."

Lilly stepped forward, "Mr. Durant, I'd be happy to stay with her during the day, treat her wounds, and try and get her to eat or drink. That is, if Mr. Gundersen won't mind my presence in his cabin."

The Swede stood silent throughout the discussion. He prized privacy and order above all else. He would not argue with Mr. Durant or Mrs. Bell, and if the young woman grew stronger, and was rapidly cured of her ailments he could quickly ascertain where she was from and assess whether or not what she was attempting to escape could put anyone in Hell on Wheels in danger.

Nora had been moved by Bolan to the Swede's cabin, with Lilly and the Swede following close behind. He laid her down on the Swede's bed as Lilly rolled up her sleeves and asked Bolan to bring warm water and to ask Henri to have Mr. Durant's chef make a broth, no vegetables for now.

The Swede stood at his desk, watching Mrs. Bell. "I'm sorry, Mr. Gundersen. This must be a terrible imposition. I'm sure she'll be well very soon."

"Not at all, Mrs. Bell. I'll leave you here. I'll be back to take my dinner, perhaps there is something I could do for her then?"

"Thank you." Lilly turned as Bolan arrived with water and she began washing the girl's face. The Swede donned his hat and walked out of the train car.


	3. Tre

Author's Note/Disclaimer:

I don't own Hell on Wheels or any of the characters created by Joe and Tony Gayton. It's been a while since I've done this; I'm feeling a bit rusty. Any feedback would be much appreciated. This is just for fun, but if anyone has any notes or suggestions I'd love to hear 'em! Hope you enjoy.

Tre

It took Lilly several minutes to strip the young woman of her heavy clothing without aid. She pulled the grey, wool dress from her body and lifted her slightly damp shift over her head. As she worked to put one of her own clean linen shifts back over the girl's head she noted that she had no wounds aside from the blisters where her skin had been exposed to the sun. What could have caused her to travel alone into the wilderness? Perhaps she had been attacked, or had a loved one killed. The thought brought the violent images of the past two weeks to Lilly's mind.

She tipped the girl's head back as she poured small amounts of water between her badly chapped lips, causing the girl to sputter and cough as the liquid rushed down her dry throat. Lilly was glad that there had been a reaction, and she watched as her patient reflexively swallowed the liquid. She used the cooling water and a small amount of scented soap from Durant's cabin on her blisters, applying small amounts of the salve the doctor had left with her.

The girl had taken a full glass of water. She would allow her some rest before she returned with the warm broth, Durant's chef was preparing. Durant had promised her the reward money he'd offered her rescuer. Lilly intended to go and find Joseph, the young Indian man who had saved her and give it to him. Slowly standing she rested her hand once more on the girl's forehead before turning and leaving the caboose. Having someone else's wounds to heal would give her time before she would have to turn her attention to her own.

The sun was setting as The Swede neared his train car. There was light coming from within; the oil lamps had already been lit. He knocked quickly before opening the door, noting the irony- having to knock at his own door. Mrs. Bell turned to greet him, as he scanned the space for the dinner resting at his desk. "Good evening, Mr. Gundersen. A man just brought that for you." He nodded silently and walked towards the desk, removing his black, broad brimmed hat and heavy black coat.

"How is the young lady fairing, Mrs. Bell?"

"Well, I think. She took three glasses of water and a bowl of broth this afternoon. I've treated and dressed her wounds. She will likely sleep through the night, however, if she does wake, I hope you'll fetch me from Mr. Durant's cabin?"

The Swede nodded and smirked, noting the acute displeasure he'd be met with by Durant if he came knocking at his door in the middle of the night, to tell him their young patient was awake and wanted her nurse. In truth, he wanted to speak with the young woman before anyone else had a chance to. The circumstances surrounding her escapade into the wilderness were unusual.

"I'm sure she will appreciate all of the kindness you show to her when she wakes, Mrs. Bell." She gave him a faint smile as he closed the door behind her. Lilly had just enough time to indulge Mr. Durant by dressing and joining him for a 'proper meal'. She was exhausted, but knew there was much to be gained by playing the role of the 'Fair haired maiden of the west' with this man.

The Swede glanced at the unconscious girl a moment before sitting at his desk to pray, "I thank you, Dear Lord, for this bounty you have placed before me."

Bohannon had been clever enough to clear his trip to the Lumber Cutting Party with Durant. There was a shipment of black powder arriving within the next few days. The Swede wanted to be sure Bohannon was just as _implicated_ in his plan to take a couple of barrels from Durant's shipment as he was; there was money to be made in this venture; another aspect of The Swede's immoral mathematics.

After paying Bohannon off at the bar, The Swede spent a few hours monitoring the saloon. He decided to go back to his train car. Durant had arranged for a cot to be made, so that The Swede would not be too terribly inconvenienced by the girl's presence in his bed. He wasn't disturbed by the idea of her there really. Not after being forced to share cold stone floors with the bodies of dead and dying men. Rotting corpses: a smell unlike any other. The young woman in his bed would only disturb his peace for a few days; not his mind, like the images of Andersonville did.

He pushed the cot closer to the bed, so that he could study her before he fell asleep. While Hell on Wheels hardly adhered to the accepted ideas of propriety The Swede decided to sleep in his shirt and trousers. He typically slept nude, but if she were to wake during the night, it would be indecent.

Breathing softly, he leant over her still form. Her sun scorched skin was already turning a more subtle pink. The peeling skin looking less irritated under the doctor's remedy. Her injured feet were left unwrapped, so that air could reach them. In a matter of hours she already looked stronger. The Swede lifted one of her hands, small in his broad palm. It was callused, but not severely, she was accustomed to work, but not hard work. Her nails were thin and peeling, perhaps from prolonged exposure to water, or perhaps from a poor nutrition. Nothing he considered gave him any clue as to why she was roaming the plains between Hell on Wheels and Lincoln alone. She was fortunate she did not encounter a Cheyenne hunting party.

The Swede laid the girl's hand back down by her side, before brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. A striking shade of red. He chuckled to himself, in a matter of days, the presence of Loki, Cullen Bohannon, had shifted the order within Hell on Wheels. Perhaps this pale, fragile girl was Freya, sent to further upset his "balance".


	4. Fire

Author's Note/Disclaimer:

I don't own Hell on Wheels or any of the characters created by Joe and Tony Gayton. It's been a while since I've done this; I'm feeling a bit rusty. Any feedback would be much appreciated. This is just for fun, but if anyone has any notes or suggestions I'd love to hear 'em! Hope you enjoy.

Fire

The warm September sun was setting on Shockoe Bottom. Isham Boelter wrung his chafed hands the way he did every evening as he walked home from the canals. Tonight the air was thicker, different. The Confederacy was raising the draft age to forty-five. He was forty-seven. Joshua had been talking about going to war, running away to Lee's army of Northern Virginia for nearly a year now; he was a man, twenty-five, with a wife and child, another on the way. It was a miracle he wasn't drafted in '61, how could he continue to discourage him, when so many of the men they knew had gone to fight for their country, and their honor? All that was left in the canals were a few old men and slaves. He would enlist. Joshua would go with him. Anne would take care of Nora and watch over Hanna and the children. All the women were accustomed to hard work, the coming months would be difficult, but they would make due, all of the women of Richmond would, while their men were away.

He'd told them at dinner. Nora knew this fight was about other men's honor, that men like her father'd be fighting for other men's rights to slaves. Her father wasn't even a democrat; he'd supported President Lincoln, and had been working with slaves and freed black men since 1835 when he started working on the Kanawha Canal. In those days it was only Irishmen working in the trenches with the slaves, and they were treated no differently. Equality was something Isham had always accepted, and taught to his children. If men sweat and bled together they were equals. How could he justify leaving? Leaving his family to fend for themselves in the Confederate capital?

After Isham's announcement at the table, Joshua deftly stood up and began gathering his things, as Hanna trailed behind him in tears, Rebekah balanced on her hip. Anne stood slowly, grasping her husband's arm, speaking softly, with searching eyes. They walked quietly to the bedroom. Nora sat still at the table; she could hear the elevated pitch in her mother's voice once the door latched shut. "You are risking your son's life as well as your own. You have never been to war, the death tolls are staggering, there are families starving in the valley, they say it's just weeks before folks on Shockoe Hill start running out of supplies. If they can't feed the people in the capital, what do you think conditions will be like on the war front? Think about what you're doing, husband." Nora heard a deep, quiet rumble, inaudible words; her father's voice. Then, a shrill outburst, that she would never forget as the door pulled open, "What do _you _know about _honor_, Isham _Boelter_?"

Isham turned slowly and stared hard at Ann. Before picking up his bag, and nodding to his son, who was consoling his sobbing wife, rubbing her swollen belly, and kissing his daughter goodbye. Isham gave Nora a quick peck on the forehead before turning and walking out the door. The women sat in stunned silence, as the reality sunk in. In a matter of moments their world had been turned upside down. Nora leapt from her seat and ran out the door. She could barely make out the backs of her father and brother as they walked to the war, she'd found her voice then, screamed and yelled for them to stop, to come back, to stay, but they kept walking, and she stood there, in the middle of the street until she could see them no longer. The night and The War had swallowed them up.

"It's alright. You're safe now. Open your eyes, you're safe." Nora heard a woman's soft voice and thought the hand resting on her face was her mother's.

"Mother?"

"No." Nora's eyes slowly fluttered open, the light in the room was blinding. Her throat burned, her body ached; she couldn't remember when she'd laid down. Perhaps her brother or Hanna had found her. But when her eyes focused there was a strange woman sitting next to her.

"Where am I?"

Lilly hesitated, should she explain, try to ask questions? "You are in the town following the building of the Union Pacific Railroad. We're in Nebraska. One of the security officers found you seven miles west of here. You were unconscious in a field."

Nora swallowed hard at the lump in her throat. She'd gone east, farther into the wilderness, with no destination in mind. Her brother had not found her.

Lilly grasped her hand, and searched her eyes, "My name is Lilly." The girl said nothing. "What is your name? Do you know how you came to be in that field?"

"My name is Nora Boelter. A sinking, hopeless feeling came in waves from the pit of her stomach as her eyes filled with tears.

"Miss Boelter, may I call you Nora?" Nora nodded slowly. "Were you traveling alone?"

"My mother. She was struck with an arrow and my brother, he told me to run, and before he could go to his wife and children he was…we came out of the tent, and…he…I ran to the river, and I waited, but I couldn't stand there, my feet were frozen." Nora released Lilly's hand and started grasping at the coverlet helplessly. "My feet were numb from the water in my boots. I dried my stockings and I started walking."

Lilly knew the pain this girl was feeling, could understand the ache in her heart. It had only been two weeks since she'd watched her husband die. "Nora, I have only just arrived here myself. I can bring someone to speak with you about your family. Will you drink some of this broth before I go?"

Nora studied her pale skin, tender and freckled, more than it had ever been in Richmond. How long had she lain in that field before these people found her? Was her brother looking for her? Was he alive?

Lilly walked briskly to the Pullman, The Swede was leaning just outside the door, she passed him quickly, "Excuse me, Mr. Gundersen," and entered without knocking. The Swede followed her into the train car, sensing her urgency. Durant was sending a wire, she rushed to him. "Mr. Durant, the girl is conscious. Her name is Nora Boelter, she says she was attacked by Indians, do you think this could be the same group of Indians that attacked Robert and I?"

"Boelter…where have I heard that name?" Durant gazed around the room, trying hard to jog his memory, when he spotted the crumpled paper on the floor; he crouched to grab it, and quickly unfolded the messy broadside. He read aloud, "The emigrant Mr. Joshua Boelter of Richmond with wife Hanna and 2 children, sister, and mother are among the dead. Their bodies were found in their camp along with…" his voice trailed off. As he locked eyes with The Swede, "Either this is faulty reporting, or this young woman is not being entirely truthful about her identity." He looked past his guests, "Send another wire, this one to the marshals' office in Lincoln, 'In relation to Niobara Massacre, stop, sister of J. Boelter found, stop, send marshals to Hell on Wheels, stop'. Mr. Swede if you would be so kind as to join me, I think we should pay our patient a visit."

Lilly grasped his arm as he reached for his hat, "Thomas, please. I know the look in this young woman's eyes. She is being truthful. I believe she is who she says she is. Wait until the marshals arrive to interrogate her…" her eyes flickered nervously to The Swede, "she has been through so much, I can attest to her delicate condition after such an _ordeal_."

Lilly returned to The Swede's caboose fifteen minutes later with Durant, and The Swede en tow. Nora nervously fumbled with the sheet, pulling it tighter, higher up her chest at the presence of men.

The Swede immediately moved to place the chair from behind his desk next to his bed, and Durant sat down. "Miss Boelter? I am Thomas Durant, President of the Union Pacific Railroad. I am overseeing the project here. Are you comfortable? Is there anything we can do for you?"

Something about the soft tones of this man's voice moved Nora to tears. He spoke as if she might break, and it was only now that she realized she was close to it. She slowly shook her head 'no'.

"Mrs. Bell recounted your story. I have something you need to see." Durant pulled the wrinkled paper from his pocket and gingerly unfolded it, passing it carefully to the young woman. The Swede stood closer to Durant and Lilly watched nervously as Nora's eyes scanned the page.

"I don't understand. They can't be…. If I'm alive, then…"

Durant stared hard at her, "I have already sent for the marshals, Miss Boelter. There must have been some mistake.

"So they may be alive?"

Durant looked away from the girl's tear filled eyes and up at Lilly. "I don't know, Miss. Boelter. I suppose there may be a chance, but I am under the impression that these sorts of errors do not happen often." Nora's eyes glazed and she stared past them all. Durant took her hand uncomfortably, "Perhaps for now, we can just be grateful that you are well." She nodded as tears slid down her cheeks and dripped off her jaw bone, wet splatters landing on her trembling fingers. He stood from the chair and left the train car without saying another word.

Mrs. Bell stepped closer to Nora. "Nora, this is…" she turned and gave The Swede an awkward look. Should she introduce Durant's chief of security as 'The Swede', it was what the men in Hell on Wheels called him, and she didn't want to overstep in her introductions as this man was being generous enough to offer the young woman lodging.

The Swede took the seat he'd placed next to the bed. It was the first time Nora had noticed the tall man dressed entirely in black, behind Lilly. "Miss Boelter, I am Thor Gundersen, Mr. Durant's Head of Security. This is my train car; I will be staying here with you, until we can better understand the circumstances surrounding the attack on you and your traveling companions…"

She looked at her hands, "my family".

He nodded and looked up at Mrs. Bell. "Mrs. Bell is going to continue to assist you in your recovery. I will take my meals and sleep here, but conduct my work in the town." Nora looked into his dark blue eyes for a moment before nervously shifting her gaze back to her folded hands.

"Thank you, Mr. Gundersen."

He stood slowly, and nodded at Mrs. Bell, before leaving the caboose.

Lilly sat by the bed and reached for Nora's hand again, and Nora finally let her tears flow freely. She couldn't think of a time in her life that she'd felt more vulnerable; more alone.


	5. Fem

Author's Note/Disclaimer:

I don't own Hell on Wheels or any of the characters created by Joe and Tony Gayton.

Thank you for your kind reviews; they're certainly motivating. As previously stated, it's been a while since I've done this. I'm going to get crackin' on new chapters. Hope you enjoy!

Fem

"It was his eyes, I think. They were so blue." Lilly and Nora sat in a field away from the commotion of Hell on Wheels.

"Did you stay with him as he died?"

"I did."

"I wish I had fought, or held my mother's hand. I ran. I was so afraid, I just watched her die. I saw my brother struck with an arrow, and I ran; I didn't look back. I didn't try to find Hanna or the children; I will have to live with that shame."

Lilly's fingers tugged gently at Nora's tightly clasped hand, searching for entrance, meaning to comfort, "there is no shame in surviving. You did fight: to live, which is exactly what your family would have wanted."

It had been two days since Nora had left her sick bed and began walking with Lilly. She was beginning to feel more and more like herself every day. She barely felt the blisters on her feet now, and she had been strong enough to dress herself and dine with Lilly and Mr. Durant the previous evening. The marshals were expected at sunrise; she shuddered at the thought of their arrival; terrified they would tell her that the Lincoln Argus was only mistaken about her death, that her family had been killed in the attack, even the children. Moving west was supposed to be a fresh start for them all.

The Swede had returned to the caboose late each night since she'd regained consciousness. She was already asleep when he took his meals and readied for bed, and he was always gone when she woke.

He still took this time to study her, the swiftly fading freckles, making her skin pale, luminescent in the moon light, the fluttering auburn crescents of her eyelashes resting on her cheeks as she slept. She kept her hair in a thick plait, it annoyed him; some part of him wished to see it unbound, fanned across the white of the, of _his_ pillow. These sorts of thoughts kept him out of the caboose most of the time. They made him uncomfortable, _she_ made him uncomfortable. She had gotten under his skin. The marshals were to arrive the next day, and while he knew this young woman's anguish was genuine, he had hoped that they would give him reason to distrust her, to justify his unsettled feelings, and to send her away.

The first day that she had been able to walk, Durant had purchased her a bath in a tin tub with warm water and soap. He'd paid a dollar to have it delivered to the Swede's caboose. Lilly brought a linen shift and a plain blue dress for her to wear. She had then helped Nora to comb and pin her hair. "This is the first time in days that I've felt like a woman. I was lost under all of the grime, I think."

Lilly smiled sadly, "I'm afraid I do know how you felt." The revelation was met with silence. Lilly shrugged and tried to sound cheerful in spite of their shared sadness. "You look very pretty, Nora. This blue suits you well. You will have to prepare yourself for much unwanted attention in town. They aren't accustomed to a lady's presence here, and don't know how to behave." Nora laughed at this. She wasn't _a lady_ like Mrs. Bell was. Nora stood out in Richmond as well, and living in the slums of Shockoe Bottom, she was used to men making lewd remarks. She had never been easily offended, but there would be no man to turn to for defense. No streetwise father or protective older brother to make sure no man crossed a line in his appreciation of her 'feminine form'. That was a hard pill to swallow.

Sitting in the sun on the hill, Lilly and Nora talked about life in London before Lilly had met Robert, and life in Richmond during the war. Nora and her mother and sister-in-law had been laundresses at Chimborazo Hospital, and had learned what it meant to 'go hungry'. Lee filtered the supplies in the south to the army, many times taking food from the mouths of the civilians in the cities. Lilly took this in quietly; Nora hoped she wasn't embarrassing herself by being too forthcoming about her modest upbringing. Nora's mother had been a school teacher before the war; and Nora had been fortunate enough to have the benefit of an education, which was something many young women of her age and class were not able to claim. However, her life had been far more humble than Lilly's before coming to Hell on Wheels.

Discussing her family, she couldn't help but let her thoughts wander to Joshua's children, "Did you and Robert plan to have children?"

"We had. We'd planned to finish the surveying for the railroad and then move back to Chicago to start our family…" she grew quiet.

"I'm sorry, I'm prying. I'm afraid I will hear the worst tomorrow. That Rebekah and Daniel are dead. My mother and a few of the women in our tenement building helped Hanna deliver Rebekah. I was young, and already working. But I helped deliver Daniel. He turned three two months ago. We were already traveling, but my mother knitted him a hat, and I saved enough money to make cornbread muffins, which he's loved since he could eat solid food…" She looked away from Lilly's sad eyes as she fidgeted with the sleeves of her dress.

"Perhaps we should head back. I think Mr. Durant wanted to speak with me, and you could rest. I'm sure Mr. Gundersen won't mind. These past few days have proven to be quite taxing I'm sure." Nora nodded, and they made their way towards the train cars.

Nora knocked at the caboose door, "Come in"

"Excuse me, Mr. Gundersen. I'm tired; I'm going to lie down if that's alright?"

"Of course, I'll leave you."

"No, please, finish your lunch." She sat on the edge of the bed and untied her boots. She left her dress on, and rolled onto her side, facing away from the Swede. He stared hard at her back; she looked so much stronger and full of life. It had only been a couple of days, but the blisters on her face and feet seemed to have healed quickly. Mrs. Bell had secured a simple dress for her. This girl: 'Freya', was proving to be more of a distraction than he had anticipated.

The Swede left the train car. This afternoon he would oversee the black powder transport. He was to ensure that a few barrels made it to a separate cart he'd secured. It was early in the day and his men were unloading them.

Nora was running towards the water, she could hear someone at her heels. She was too afraid to look, but prayed it was Joshua. As she hit a thicker patch of trees in the forest she reached for one and pulled herself behind it turning swiftly to see who was behind her. It was her mother. She leapt at her, and the women ran, hands entwined toward the creek. She could hear their ragged breaths, feel the cold air slicing through her lungs, and as she were about to feel the icy water at her feet she lost the feeling of her mother's hand held tightly within her own. She whipped around, and she was gone; Nora began to scream, there was yelling in the distance perhaps on the other side of the creek, and then an explosion.

Nora woke at the sound. There were men yelling outside the window, she could feel bits of glass in her hair and realized one of the windows in the train car had been shattered by the blow. She raced to put her boots on, fumbling as the strap at the heel rubbed her still tender blisters. She was distracted by screams. She ran out of the train car and towards the chaos, seeing wounded men around a smoking cart. Mr. Gundersen was yelling for everyone to get away from the powder, as one man strode closer ignoring the warning to free a man trapped under a dislodged wheel. He and this man escaped just before the rest of the powder on the cart ignited. Nearly fifteen minutes of watching and waiting for more powder to burn and explode before workers were able to put the fires out and gather the wounded. Without hesitation Nora went to a man lying near the debris, he was dead. The Swede saw her and rushed to her side, grasping her upper arm firmly almost painfully. "Miss. Boelter, what are you doing out here? It is not safe; you have nearly succumbed to your own injuries."

"I'm quite alright, I assure you, Mr. Gundersen. I've dealt with burns before."

He looked at her confused and irritated, not loosening his grasp on her arm. She cast her eyes to the ground and nodded demurely, "during the war…"

Nora, Lilly, and a few of the other women continued to care for the wounded and dying. Eight men had lost their lives in the explosion, and several others had suffered severe burns. There were many other men still putting out the small, dispersed fires. A row of men were passing buckets of water between them towards the fire. A man on the end locked eyes with her and grinned. An odd expression in the midst of such confusion, Lilly had warned her that her improved appearance might warrant undue attention from the rough men of the railroad town, however this man's grin wasn't leering or uncomfortable, it was pleasant and familiar. She smiled in spite of herself.

The woman with the striking red hair reminded Mickey of home more than any of his slides. Surely he would have noticed this angel somewhere in Hell on Wheels after being there for weeks. He would have to find out who she was; she certainly wasn't a whore, as modest as the neckline on her dress was. He shook his head helplessly; nothing was predictable in Hell on Wheels.

That night the caboose was silent except for the scratch of metal utensils on plates. They hadn't made eye contact, something about Mr. Gundersen's presence unsettled Nora, her heart raced her tongue felt heavy, and she stumbled over her words, often listening as they tumbled inarticulately out of her mouth. His large form emanated power and control, the two things she felt most bereft of since her escape. "What did you mean; you had 'deal' with burns before'?"

Nora coughed and swallowed hard, reaching for her water. "I'm sorry?"

"When I told you it was unsafe today, you said you had '_deal_' with burns during the war…"

Nora felt a blush creeping up from beneath the collar of her dress, could feel the heat in her cheeks as this man directed his frank gaze at her, all of his attention; it was overwhelming. "Well, the war devastated Richmond. I saw many dead men and helped treat soldiers on both sides, but in March of '63 there was an explosion not far from our home and I helped clean up the debris and care for the wounded."

"Part of a battle then?"

"Not exactly. The Confederate Army made use of Brown's island, a tiny island in the James River, to build munitions for the war; they called it the Confederate Laboratory. With the men at war and the slaves working in factories like Tredegar, it was left to the women of Richmond to run, many were immigrants, all very young, and very poor. In March of '63 there was an explosion. The 'Examiner' reported nearly fifty women dead. Most of them lived in Shockoe Bottom, where I'd grown up. I went with several laundresses from General Hospital 2 to help transport the most severe burn victims. I was two blocks from the hospital when I realized one of the young women we were carrying was our neighbor, one of my friends. She was Jewish, and wasn't supposed to work on Saturdays; I didn't think she'd be there. Her face was burnt so badly, I didn't recognize her. She died two days later. All we could do for the women was soak cotton bandages in oil and try to ease their pain. I had never seen anything so violent."

The Swede said nothing, but he'd stopped pushing the food on his plate and held her gaze.

"Her name was Rachel…I wasn't afraid today, Mr. Gundersen."

The Swede searched her face, and nodded, staring at her for a moment before turning his attention back to the plate of food in front of him.

Upsetting the balance indeed.


	6. Seks

Author's Note/Disclaimer:

I don't own Hell on Wheels or any of the characters created by Joe and Tony Gayton.

Seks

He could hear whimpers coming from beneath the thin sheet. She turned over restlessly, facing his cot, wisps of hair loosening from her braid, curling on her glistening face. The train car rocked slowly on the tracks, in synch with her twitching form. He walked to the bed holding onto the wood paneled walls as he leant over her. Her white, cotton nightdress was tied tight about her throat, but he could see the spots where the fabric had gone sheer from the sweat dampening her body. He wanted to lay his hands on her; to touch her somewhere, just to see if that would soothe her little cries or still her jerking body. He wouldn't risk waking her, so instead he sat back down on his cot and watched her eyelashes flinching fast, and then slow, against her pale cheeks.

When the train stopped, Hell on Wheels would set up farther west, closer to Lincoln. The Marshals had journeyed east and past the railroad caravan, setting them back a day in their travels. This had infuriated Durant. The Swede tried to grasp how he felt, the young woman's presence was not unpleasant, rather it was too pleasant, distracting. She seemed a mild mannered woman; by her own telling, of a good, hardworking family. Surely she would have somewhere to go if it were true that all of her immediate family had been killed.

It was nearly eight in the morning when the people of Hell on Wheels began setting up camp. The whores set up their tent with its elaborate series of private 'rooms', the butcher, and tavern keepers, all assembled their ramshackle buildings, setting out their wares. Joseph Black Moon and Reverend Cole busied themselves rebuilding their church tent, and hauling boxes of bibles, and pews into the tent.

"My father's people won't feel threatened by four men."

"These men are the eyes of the Union Army; the tip of the spear. Three marshals rode into Hell on Wheels this morning, Joseph. I think it has to do with that injured woman they brought in last week. It is only a matter of time before we have a war on our hands…"

"Reverend, is it true that she was attacked by a Raiding Party near Lincoln?"

"I don't know, and I imagine that's what the marshals are here to determine."

"First Mrs. Bell, and now this…I pray this was not Pawnee Killer's doing."

"This is why we must visit your father; ask him to help us settle these hostilities, before more lives are lost. More Cheyenne lives."

Durant stood at the door of the Pullman, and tipped his hat sarcastically at the men in black on horseback, "Gentlemen, so kind of you to join us."

"Mr. Thomas Durant?"

"Yes."

"We're here to investigate the-"

"Yes, I know why you're here. I sent for you, dammit! I don't have time to witness your interrogation. I trust you understand the complexity of the matter at hand. As described in my wireless?"

One of the marshals nodded. "Good. My head of security, Mr. Thor Gundersen, will accompany you to his cabin, where our young victim has been recovering. He will witness your interview, but with the relocating of our _little town_ I expect you'll understand his time being limited." Without waiting for a response, Durant nodded curtly, "Gentlemen" and went back into his train car.

The Swede led the men to his caboose, where Nora sat anxiously waiting. She had slept badly the night before, waking several times during the night, to the shaking and rattling of the moving train. She feared the worst this morning. She could barely eat breakfast, as Mr. Gundersen eyed her warily, taking in her shaking hands and the strands of hair escaping her intricate bun. She longed for Lilly's steady smile and comforting hands, but her friend had explained that she had to 'be with Durant' that morning. However before leaving, Lilly has secured a second day dress for her to wear during her 'interview', brown and simple. She was uneasy as the door to the caboose swung open.

"Gentelmen, this is Miss. Nora Boelter."

They all nodded and mumbled greetings as The Swede pulled a chair for one of the men to sit. Thor had become an expert at reading people, his time at Andersonville and working for Mr. Durant required this expertise. He noted Nora's nervous form, the hard shaking of her left foot and her inability to make eye contact with the Marshals; he swallowed hard, expecting this to be an emotional visit, he was unsure of how he would manage the situation once these men left.

A marshal with a thick walrus mustache and a ruddy face sat directly in front of her and craned his neck to catch her downcast eyes, "Miss. Boelter, you look very well."

"Thank you"

"You know why we've come here today?"

"To tell me about my family."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Are they dead?" The man cleared his throat and glanced quickly at The Swede who stood near the door.

"Well, you see the stories that were reported to the papers claimed that all of the Boelter family had been killed. The bodies were accounted for. People who had seen you and your family in Lincoln, served as witnesses when we were determining the identities of the deceased. We found the body of a young lady about your age."

Her foot stilled.

"What hair was left on her head was a similar color to yours; I'm sure I don't need to tell you, it's a striking color. Two women in Lincoln remembered seeing a young lady with red hair with the Boelter family. Where we found this girl's body suggested that she was you. We've since determined that she was in fact, a Miss. Sarah Starke."

She looked up, but away from the men, "Sarah…"

"Thus the reports printed were incorrect."

Nora began blinking hard, trying desperately to stave off the blurring tears, to swallow the hard lump in her throat, "but my family…" she started impatiently.

"Are confirmed dead. I'm sorry."

"My mother died at my feet, and my brother had been shot, but he…"

"Was found not far from your tent. His wife and children were found just outside of the camp site; it seemed they were trying to escape."

Nora could not cry. It felt as if something deep within her was dying in that moment, as if her heart was burning and turning to ash right at the core of her. But the lump in her throat disappeared and the tears swiftly blinding her rapidly dissolved.

"I'm very sorry, Miss Boelter. And I'm sorry now to have to ask you a few questions, while you must be distraught."

Still no tears fell, she wondered if these men thought her silence odd. They sat silently, staring at her. Mr. Gundersen stepped closer, and stood solemnly to her left. His presence was familiar, yet she shuddered to imagine what he must have thought of her emotionless form.

She nodded at the man, "Did you see the Indians that attacked your family? Could you describe what they were wearing, any distinguishable paint?"

"I didn't see anything. My mother and I were washing, she was struck and women started screaming near the tents. I ran to our tent, where my brother told me he was going to find his wife, and that I was to run as far as I could. I saw an arrow strike him in the chest, but I didn't look at his attacker, I was too afraid. I ran. I left them."

"You were right to run." The marshal reached out and grasped her clammy hand, she looked at him then. He pulled his hand away awkwardly as her angry eyes bored through him. What did he know about what was 'right'.

"They are...were Catholic, sir. Where were they buried?"

"They're in the city cemetery in Lincoln, Ma'am." Nora, swallowed audibly, but said nothing else.

"Do you have family in Richmond you could return to, Miss Boelter?"

"No. I have an uncle, but he and my father were estranged long before I was born. I never met him."

"Well, this will be a hard time for you. Do you know how to reach him? For you to suffer such a burden alone is inadvisable."

The man stood slowly and shook The Swede's hand. "Miss. Boelter, you have my condolences. I hope that you'll consider reaching out to the family you have left."

The Swede escorted them out, and decided to leave Nora to her thoughts. He would return to dine with her that evening.

When the sun had set and he finally returned, he found Nora sitting where he'd left her hours earlier. He doubted she'd moved from the spot all day.

Nora said nothing as he approached her. Food was brought and left at The Swede's desk, but they were motionless, staring at each other.

"I feel nothing."

He said nothing. He wanted to touch her, nothing inappropriate, maybe just her arm or her hand, but he kept his fists clenched at his sides.

"I don't know what is wrong with me. I have nothing. The people I loved most in the world were slaughtered, my mother in front of my own eyes, and I have no tears to cry. I feel so empty."

He spoke softly and she turned to look at him, "We must all live with our grief in our own ways." He gestured for her to join him at his desk, to eat.

"Have you ever suffered this way, Mr. Gundersen?"

He nodded solemnly. "I was taken prisoner in The War. I spent many months in a camp."

Several minutes passed before Nora spoke, "my brother was kept in a camp. He was captured in Chattanooga in November of '63. They brought him to Rock Island Prison."

"Yes. I was taken to Andersonville."

"I've heard of Andersonville…There was a confederate prison camp on Bell Isle on the other side of the James. Sometimes late at night, if the city was quiet you could hear the screams…that must have been awful for you. Were you treated badly?"

The Swede's face twitched involuntarily, refusing to meet her eyes, or make a sound, he nodded slowly and continued to cut his food. He didn't want her pity. He didn't want her to know the man Andersonville had turned him into. "Many men died in Andersonville".

"When my brother returned to us, he was a shadow of the man he'd been when he left. He was skin and bones, his skin was sallow…my sister-in-law cried over him for days. She refused to let him do anything, she fed him out of fear his arms would be too weak to hold a full spoon. He never spoke of it; and he never cried." A long silence passed before she continued. "I'm not sure either side was in the right…to inflict such pain on one another… I'm sorry…" The Swede had not raised his eyes from his heavy plate, he'd stopped moving his food with his fork; now sitting completely still on the other side of the table.

"I apologize, Mr. Gundersen…I shouldn't have-"

"Thor."

"I don't-"

"If we are to discuss such things, I should like you to call me, 'Thor'".

"Thor."

The Swede glanced at her quickly, and then held her gaze, staring hard at her lovely face, the flames of the oil lamp flickering gold across her pale features, making her green eyes look black in the shadows. She looked away from his frank stare, a blush climbing up from beneath the demure neckline of her brown dress.

He left her after dinner, so she could ready herself for bed. He walked around Hell on Wheels; it was bustling in the early evening. The taverns were becoming crowded; usually he loved this time of day. Shortly after dusk the men would pack these pleasure tents and he could reap the information they drunkenly spewed, but tonight he longed to be in his train car. He longed to be in his train car with_ her_.

When he returned he sat and watched her sleep. His mind raced as her chest rose and fell slowly in a steady rhythm against the almost sheer cotton nightdress. He hoped she would go find her uncle, and leave this city. She wouldn't be able to stay in this car with him, under his protection forever. He hated the thought of her fending for herself in this wicked place. But if things continued the way they were, soon, she would need protection from him as well.


	7. Syv

Author's Note/Disclaimer:

I don't own Hell on Wheels or any of the characters created by Joe and Tony Gayton.

Syv

"My father never spoke of him. He told us once, my brother and I, that he and Declan came to this country when they were just boys. It was 1830, I think; it was before the famine, before there were tens of thousands of Irishmen flocking to New York City. They did odd jobs, just enough to get by. But then my father met my mother, and shortly after they married, they moved to Richmond. My father stopped speaking to his brother then; that was nearly thirty years ago. Joshua and I used to try and get my father to talk about his life in Ireland, or his brother, sometimes if he'd gotten into the spirits around Christmas or New Year we'd question, but to little avail…" Nora gazed wistfully out at the plains as she and Lilly walked near the Pullman. "I wouldn't even know where to start looking…"

"I'm not sure I can stay here much longer, Nora. With Robert dead…"

"Would you return to London?"

"No. Robert has family in Chicago. His mother and sisters. This is no place for women like us, Nora. This is a harsh existence. I shudder to imagine my fate in London or with, this family I only met once, but perhaps reconciliation, while difficult, leads to a safer path."

"What about working here?"

"Working? Doing what precisely?" Lilly's amused tone irritated Nora. She wasn't a lady; she'd never owned gloves made of anything but coarse wool. She'd washed blood from torn rags and worse from bed sheets during the war.

"I don't know. I'll speak with Mr. Gundersen about it. Perhaps he will have a suggestion; living with my father's brother isn't a likely solution; I don't know where to find him. If I am alone, it would behoove me to learn to be self-sufficient."

"Forgive me, Nora. Of course you must do what you think is best. It's not easy being a woman is it? Finding oneself abruptly alone in the world. I know you'll be sensible."

As she walked away from Mrs. Bell, Nora felt more determined than she had that morning. Her hopes of being reunited with her family were dashed. They were dead. All of them. She could try to find Declan Boelter, a man her father seldom mentioned; thirty years was a long time, perhaps he was dead too. This was the farthest Nora had ever traveled from Richmond. New York seemed worlds away.

Lost in her thoughts she walked through the city, boots sloshing and sinking into the deep mud; the smell of the place was unlike anything she'd experienced in Richmond. The light breeze ruffled her hair, but did little to push the smell away from their encampment. She saw The Swede strolling around the tents, stopping occasionally to talk the shopkeepers and traveling merchants. He towered over these men. He leaned into them, and they nodded eagerly and scurried away from him. He was a curious man.

Nora approached him, smiling, "Mr. Gundersen, beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Ah Miss. Boelter, it is indeed. You look well."

"I am much better today, thank you. I was wondering, you are familiar with all of the shops here?"

"Yes."

"Are there any laundresses?"

"The…" he hesitated, "some of the women, ah, of questionable morals will from time to time wash…"

Nora laughed quietly. "Washerwomen in cities are always supposed to be whores." The Swede flinched at the word and looked directly at her.

"My mother, and sister-in-law and I washed clothes before the war, and washed in hospitals during. I could do this here too. My uncle is somewhere in New York, but the odds that I'll find him are-"

"Miss. Boelter, this is a dangerous place. Once you leave my imminent protection there is nothing I can do for you. I would suggest you try to find your uncle; this is a hard place for a man to live on his own, but for a woman, a young woman with delicate sensibilities."

"Delicate sensibilities. Mr. Gundersen I washed my mother's blood off my skirts this morning. The same way I washed blood and bile from sheets after the Battle of Richmond. I am alone in the world; and perhaps protecting myself is something I should learn to do sooner rather than later. I am no _lady_, sir."

The Swede scoffed at her argument, muttered something in Norwegian under his breath, tipped his hat and stalked away from her.

She could be self-sufficient; she was not afraid of the rural terrain or the harsh men. She was alone; traveling back to Richmond, or to the bustling city her father once knew, would not change this fact. Nora turned her head at raucous laughter coming from behind a large canvas tent. The man who'd smiled at her after the powder explosion was ushering a line of men closer to a hole in the canvas. The men must have been gazing at…

Before she could consider the matter further, a large busted woman raced out of the tent with a broom in hand, she beat at the men, and beat at the smiling stranger, before returning to the tent. He looked at her then. A bit surprised, and a bit embarrassed; he grinned and shrugged sheepishly, and she laughed in spite of herself. The first time she'd laughed in days.

That night she'd decided to visit the saloon, women were permitted and she'd heard there was sometimes music. She didn't have the heart to dance, but she longed to have her spirits lifted; she hated the idea of lying in that quiet caboose, waiting for Mr. Gundersen to sneak in late in the night.

He was there, sitting at a table near the bar, observing the men playing cards, and the musicians, and a few women dancing near the entrance; he saw everything. Nora supposed this made him good at his job.

She sat at a table near the door. She had no money; everything from the food in her belly and the clothes on her body had been given charitably by Mr. Durant, at the request of her friend Mrs. Bell. She wondered if Lilly would be brazen enough to visit the saloon. Nora wasn't sure this wasn't an attempt to prove to Mr. Gundersen that she could protect herself; that she could provide for herself. She knew he'd be here, and there he was, discreetly watching her.

Suddenly a man yanked the chair across from her out from beneath the table, and sat heavily in it. "I'm Mickey Mcginnes, ma'am. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He held his hand out over the table.

Nora took it gingerly, "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Mcginnes. I'm Nora Boelter"

"Nora. What a beautiful name. Irish?"

"Yes. And you?"

"Aye, what gave me away?" He winked flirtatiously at her and she felt a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"You're not from the ol' Emerald Isle though."

"No. My father came here as a boy; he had an accent like yours."

"Ahh. Where is he, and what would he think about his beautiful daughter sitting alone in a saloon with oh such treacherous folk?"

"He's dead, Mr. Mcginnes. And truth be told; he'd probably count himself among the treacherous folk, though I doubt he'd be pleased with my sitting amongst them."

"Bollocks! Leave it to me, I'm sorry, lass. I didn't mean to offend ye."

"Not at all, it was long ago now; The War."

"I'm sorry to hear it. My brother and I come over a few months ago, missed the fightin'"

"Be glad of it, Mr. Mcginnes."

"Mickey."

"Be glad of it, Mickey."

"So, what are ye drinkin', Miss Boelter?"

"Nora."

"What're ye drinkin', Nora?" he said with a sly smile.

She laughed again, this time just as heartily as the last. "I'm not, Mickey. My chaperone is keeping a watchful eye on me. He'd probably not take kindly to my showing up to his caboose this evening smelling of whiskey."

Mickey eyed the Swede angrily, and gestured obviously with his thumb, "you're stayin' with the likes o' him? Why? How'd a sweet girl like you get stuck with that bastard?"

"My family was attacked more than a week ago; I escape the attack and I was taken in by Mr. Durant. I've been staying with Mr. Gundersen for my protection. He's a gentleman, Mickey. Perhaps you've been-"

"Gentlemen, my arse. Excuse me, Miss. Nora, but I'm convinced, and I assure ye it aint the whiskey talkin', that that man there, is the devil 'imself. Dressed in black carrying that heavy baton, good for beatin', threatenin', and extortin' from these hard workin' folk."

"He wouldn't! He's-"

"Durant's 'head of security', yeah and he always makes sure to get his bit on the side. He's plannin' to take two dollars a week from my brother and I. You sure he's keepin' you in his caboose per Durant's directive, and no' because he likes the site of ye in a dressin' gown?"

"Of course, I'm sure!"

"Look at him. Angry bastard, he looks ready to rip my eyes out for talkin' to ye. I bet he don' let ye far."

"He has no control over the places I go, or the people I speak to, Mickey."

She eyed Mr. Gundersen closely, he was watching them. Now, he made no effort to be discreet. His face was angry, his mouth a hard line as his eyes marked every movement Mickey made.

"Oh, Aye? Why don't you dance with me then? See how the Swede likes that?" He stood with much ceremony, walked jauntily to her side of the table and leaned down offering her his hand. She locked eyes with Mickey and didn't dare look in the direction of Thor's table, but she heard a loud knock against it. His baton making hard contact one time with the wood: a warning. It was still rattling against the floor as she jolted from the table.

"No thank you, Mr. Mcginnes." She fled from the saloon, telling herself it was the recent loss of her loved ones that had sent her emotions tumbling; the thought of dancing causing her to sweat and her hands to shake-it was because the enjoyment of such a frivolous activity in the face of such sadness was shameful; it wasn't the thought of the Swede watching her with another man; it wasn't the idea of his eyes traveling her body as this handsome Irishman spun her in circles and led her through the bouncing steps. She could feel the heat from his gaze, sense the anger rippling across the saloon. He was furious; but whether that fury was directed at her or Mickey she couldn't tell.

She lay awake in his bed, waiting for him to enter the caboose. It had only been an hour or two when he entered; pushing the door closed a bit harder than she'd suspected he'd been closing it each night when he came in. Perhaps he wished to wake her. She lay still, willing her heart to slow, forcefully calming her breathing. She heard him undress, and heard the cot creak under his weight. She wasn't afraid of him; she was excited by him. She doubted her ability to manage these unsettled feelings. She had never experienced anything like them before.


	8. Atte

Author's Note/Disclaimer:

I don't own Hell on Wheels or any of the characters created by Joe and Tony Gayton.

Atte

There were loud voices just outside the window. The morning light glowing red through her eyelids as the sun shone down on her. She discreetly stretched her legs and pulled the quilt higher, as she willed her eyes to open slightly. She heard rustling papers over her shoulder, at The Swede's desk; he was moving around the caboose. He was usually gone when she woke up. She blinked several times; hoping if she lay there quietly long enough Thor would leave before she had to get out of the bed. She tugged nervously at the neckline of her nightdress. And wondered if she'd be able to fall back to sleep to delay the confrontation with Thor.

The Swede turned abruptly; he knew she was awake. "Ah. Good morning, Miss. Boelter." He smiled peculiarly, clasped his hands behind his back, and stepped closer to the bed as Nora slowly rolled in his direction, pretending she was barely awake and hadn't spent ten minutes thinking about how to avoid this moment. He sat down on his cot, straight as an arrow, folding his hands in his lap, smiling his strange smile.

It made her feel naked; chilled. She shuddered and wondered if that was his intent- to intimidate.

"I do not want you speaking to that man again. Do you understand?"

Silence.

"I understand your concerns, Mr. Swede. But I will ask you to respect my freedom to judge any man here by their actions and the character they present to me. If he did you any ill, then I am sorry. But Mickey-" she caught herself, scrambling to think of a way to correct this blunder.

A look of shock crossed Thor's face; he was stunned, but as soon as the look was there, it was gone. She was _his_ responsibility; she had been placed in _his_ care, and she would disregard _his_ order? She'd called that bastard Irishman, 'Mickey', they had just met, and so soon she would have the gall to address him informally? She had called him 'Swede'. He had figured she would hear this 'endearment' eventually, but he had hoped that the affinity they were developing would influence her to ignore the nickname honorably bestowed upon him by the ignorant masses of this town, and continue to call him by his given name. He thought they had made progress. How in the span of one evening did this Irish braggart fracture their delicate 'friendship'?

"Mick. Ey." Slowly, separating the name into two distinct syllables; not questioning, accusing.

"Mr. Mcginnes presented himself as a gentleman, and so I will treat him as such. And I should think that-"

"Miss. Boelter, I would ask you to understand the precarious position you have placed me in. You are here; under my protection, until arrangements can be made for your safe return to New York or to Richmond. I handle the security of this 'town'. A man is murdered nearly every night here; and it is my duty to maintain order amidst this violence, this…. _chaos_. I have been asked to keep you safe by Mr. Durant, and that is my intention. You endanger yourself by being so blindly…_trusting_. I cannot forbid you-"

"No you cannot. I am an independent woman, Mr. Swede. I am responsible for myself, however I will honor your _request _for the time being. As my return to New York or Richmond is questionable, and I am still in your care, out of consideration for your duties I will avoid Mr. Mcginnes to the best of my ability." She would do what she was told _for now_; it was easier than arguing. At least until she could decipher her feelings on the matter. In that moment her stomach was fluttering and she struggled to maintain the heated eye contact, the Swede had initiated.

Thor was furious. Her condescending tone, her determined eye contact: he wanted to rip that Irish boy in two. How dare he think he could undermine him with Nora. It was obvious that Thor had her under his 'protection' and yet this did not stop that impertinent Irishman from trying to flatter her, to dance with her, to touch her-all in his presence. He would make his point today. He was going for payment.

They had asked for "a little more time". And he had given them "a _little_ more time". He was not feeling very generous this morning. He stood abruptly, and walked away from the cot, turning his back on Nora. As he opened the door, donning his wide brimmed hat, he looked quickly at Nora, "Good day, Miss. Boelter".

Nora had spent much of the morning in the caboose, reading a book Lilly had given her. The Swede had not returned. She'd considered going for a walk around the town several times, but feared she'd see him, or worse, see Mickey. She donned her walking boots and decided she'd go for a quick stroll, fresh air was important to her recovery after all.

As she walked through the dense mud, bits of it sticking to the soles of her shoes, she found it hard to believe she'd ever consider the air amidst these tents and train cars fresh. The air was heavy, thick with the smell of feces and blood. Bits of flesh and congealing blood trailed through the mud from the slaughterhouse on the edge of town, and the heavily made-up whores whistled and hollered at her as she walked by. She approached a commotion near one of the saloons. One of the tents had collapsed. She saw Mickey; he was wringing his hands while his brother paced around the wrinkled canvas. A few men were coming to help them. They locked eyes, and his mouth twitched into a smile as he began to step towards her. She immediately broke eye contact and turned away from him. She wondered if the Swede had anything to do with Mickey's tent; he had seemed so angry this morning. She didn't want to be responsible for any trouble wreaked upon this kind Irishman. Mickey watched her go; he shook his head. That bastard had already gotten to her; frightened her just like he'd frightened the people of Hell on Wheels.

Nora walked through the rest of the town. She felt the stares and whispers. Another survivor of an Indian _massacre_, another pretty young woman, people were pointing, some snickering behind their hands, men gazed wantonly, some leaned forward close enough to touch her if they'd dared, but instead just breathed heavily and whispered words she could barely decipher. This had been the first time she'd walked without Lilly, and she felt unbearably alone. This was not like Richmond in wartime, this was different, these weren't rebel soldiers dying for honor, or even price gouging scoundrels making money by cheating the weak and starving; there was something even more sinister in the faces of these men, something more unseemly in the way these women moved.

As she walked she'd heard whispers about a fight. A brawl that would be taking place that evening between the foreman and one of his colored workers; this was unprecedented; people were placing bets in the streets, the tavern keeps were moving tables and sweeping the wood planks where the fight was to take place. Nora was intrigued. Her father frequently spoke of ring fighting and boxing in New York when he was a boy, newly arrived to this country. Making ends meet by throwing fights or knocking down smaller opponents. Joshua had fought a few times in Richmond against their mother's wishes; Nora had never seen a match, but she'd patched up her brother's split lips or bruised cheek bones enough times to know they were violent and exciting.

When she arrived at the Swede's caboose he was already inside, sitting pensively, scanning documents at his desk. She had hoped he would take his meal alone and return early to the saloon to prepare for the night's festivities. Instead, he sat there waiting for her. As she entered he stood quickly and motioned for her to take a seat with him, so that they could eat together.

She walked in and sat down without making eye contact with him. He prayed quietly over their meal, and began to scratch his fork against the pewter plate without looking at her. She wondered why he would have chosen to eat here if he'd had no intention of speaking to her. The scratch of metal against metal, as they ate, the sounds of chewing and swallowing sounding monstrously loud in the silence of the caboose she could take it no longer.

"My parents met and fell in love in New York City."

The Swede looked at her abruptly, processing the unexpected comment. He nodded expectantly, willing her to continue.

"My father was fifteen when he and his brother arrived in New York. He and my uncle worked odd jobs, some I expect were less legitimate than others. He said my mother tamed him, made him good. She was a school teacher; she taught Presbyterian children in a meeting house on the Hudson River, she would speak of that time with reverence. She and my father were married in 1835 and they moved to Richmond, where my mother's people were. She taught there for a while, and my father worked building the canal. My brother and I were born a few years later. It was honest work they did. We didn't want for much, never went hungry. It wasn't until the war that we learned what it was to go hungry. I always thought I'd teach like she did. She insisted my brother and I speak well, like she did. She carried herself like a lady, if it weren't for her simple clothes you'd think she was a lady." Nora felt self-conscious, she was babbling, but any sound was better than their eating in silence.

The Swede still said nothing, but he seemed less surly, the sound of her chatter soothing the angry lines around his mouth and eyes.

She stopped speaking. And they continued to eat in silence. "What was your life in Norway like, Mr. Gundersen? Did you have family there?"

He swallowed. And nodded slowly. "I was married when I was very young. She was a plain girl from the neighboring village. She left me a few years after we were wed. I came to this country, to New York City after that, haven't spoken to any of my kin since then. Life was very different here than in Oslo." He laughed and slapped his hand heavily on the desk, as if he had heard a joke Nora had not heard. She smiled in spite of herself.

"What did you do in New York?"

"I was an accountant. I have always enjoyed working with numbers. Life was much simpler then." He blinked a few times sadly, and Nora wondered what he was recalling, what sad reverie he was in.

"And you work with numbers now? For Mr. Durant?"

"Ya. A bit…" She wanted to press him; to dispel the ugly rumor that he extorted money from the tradesmen in town.

"Is that to do with the charging of the shopkeepers and tradesmen here?"

He set his fork down hard against his plate, it echoed loudly in the quiet caboose. She'd done it, his demeanor was completely changed. His mouth became a hard line, and she knew she'd gone too far. Their pleasant conversation was over. Gone was his wry smile and his gentle glances.

"I suppose you heard this from that Irishman?"

"Mr. Mcguinnes mentioned it, yes."

"Well, as I said this morning, you must be wary of the wayward gossip mongers in this town. These dipsomaniacs and whoremongers will say anything to endear themselves to a pretty girl."

She was irritated; he hadn't denied the accusation, merely deflected the comment, and accused her of being naïve. "So you don't take their money then?" Her question was met with silence as the Swede refused to make eye contact with her. He stood abruptly. And began to don his heavy black coat, readying himself to survey the saloon.

"I heard there's going to be a fight tonight between the foreman and a black man at the saloon?"

He turned slowly. "You are not to attend this fight, Nora."

"Do you expect it to be dangerous; do you doubt your ability to keep the situation under control?" She was being petulant now, if he insisted on treating her like a child, she would act like one; she would bicker like one.

"That is no place for a lady." And with that he walked out of the caboose, slamming the door behind him.

Nora sat at the table staring at the dirty plates in silence. She felt like a captive. Thor barely knew her, what right did he have to dictate what she could and could not do or see as _a lady_. She was no lady, she had been raised to speak well and mingle with fine folk as she took in their laundry, but she owned no parasols, or fine shoes, or hoops. She had never sipped from crystal glasses or eaten off of china. If she wanted to attend a fight, she would. She quickly got up from the table and raced outside toward the tavern.

She picked up her skirts and walked quickly through the mud, trying not to linger so her boots wouldn't sink down into it. Near the tent stood a woman with dark marks on her chin; Nora inferred by her dress, she was probably a prostitute. The woman looked angry, irritable as she paced outside of one of the tents. Nora nodded her head at the woman; who walked towards her as she did. "You're a fine looking girl. You be lookin' for work soon you think?" Nora didn't know how to respond, she sputtered.

"Going to see a colored man get beat? If he doesn't throw the fight, they'll kill him, you know?"

Nora felt ashamed. She didn't know how to answer this woman. Her father had worked on the canal in Richmond, in the 1830's it had been white tradesmen working on the canals; by the 1850's white men would not be denigrated to work side by side with slaves. Only the Irish who were in poor circumstances would be humbled to work alongside these black men. Her father refused to speak harshly of these men; he had always considered any man who was hardworking an equal, Nora was afraid this fight would be more than the typical boxing match her bother attended in the barrooms of Shockoe Bottom.

Nora attempted to get into the tavern. Men were standing shoulder to shoulder, the air was thick and heavy, moist from perspiration, the humidity caused the hair around the crown of her head and at the nape of her neck to curl tightly. Sweat formed on her forehead and her chest above the square neckline of her dark blue dress. She couldn't see over the men crowding the tavern, there was no chance she'd see the fight, she could only hear their exultations every time she imagined one man was landing a punch.

The warm air and boisterous men became too much for Nora, and she left the tavern. Standing outside she felt the cool air sweep across the sweat dampened skin of her chest; it gave her a chill and she hugged her arms tightly around herself. As men began to rush out of the tavern she moved aside, she saw them cheering who she assumed was the foreman's black opponent. She wondered what that would mean for him in the days to come. The foremen lay alone, shirtless and bleeding on the tavern floor. And she watched as Lilly approached the man and gave him water. Perhaps ladies did occasionally attend fights she thought wryly; she wondered what the Swede would think about that.

As soon as this thought crossed her mind, she was physically yanked from her reverie. A hand wrapped tightly around her upper arm, pulling her towards a warm body. She looked up into The Swede's angry blue eyes.

"I thought I made my position clear, Miss Boelter."

"Mr. Swede, I-" this made him grip her arm tighter. He began to walk towards the caboose her arm still in his grasp, she didn't struggle as they were walking so swiftly she was sure if she tried to pull her arm from his grip she'd fall over.

"I do not ask much, Miss. Boelter. Just that you obey the few rules I give. This is a dangerous place for you to wander alone, and at night no less…"

"You can ask me, sir. But you cannot command me." With this, Nora tried to pull her arm from his strong hold. The spots where his fingers were pressed tingled on her arm. He abruptly let go of her as they reached the steps of the caboose, she stumbled into his chest and he gripped both of her arms to steady her. In that moment her chest was pressed against his, her hands trembled and her breathing became unsteady; she could feel his heart pounding as he held her, his fingers quickly flexing around her arms, and his heavy breaths tickling the curly hairs on her forehead. She daringly looked up into his eyes. Thor's gaze was intense as he searched her face, as if trying to read her thoughts in that moment, or perhaps trying to decipher his own; to wade through this unfamiliar feeling. The blood in her veins began to burn, there was a growing desire to push herself closer, but she fought it with every breath.

He wanted her. In that moment he knew, he understood the curious feeling that had grown stronger every day. He wanted to pull her more tightly against him, to bury his face in her neck, to push his lips angrily against hers. She had disobeyed him, he should punish her, but all he wanted was to touch her, to feel her, his hands began to tremble and in that moment he did not trust his treacherous body. He burned for her. He stood her upright, away from his chest, away from his arousal.

Before he could catch himself he brushed a finger against the curls at the nape of her neck, he stared at her and whispered something, Nora assumed was Norwegian. He ushered her into the caboose and closed the door quietly behind her. Standing quietly for a long while outside, Thor waited until she was dressed for bed and tucked beneath the heavy blankets before he entered the caboose. Something had just changed between them; and he expected it would never be the same.

Author's Note II: Wanted to take an opportunity to thank everyone who's reviewed! So kind, and super motivating!


	9. Ni

Author's Note/Disclaimer:

I don't own Hell on Wheels or any of the characters created by Joe and Tony Gayton.

Ni

The next morning, the caboose was silent. Nora knew immediately the Swede was not there and she let out the breath she'd been holding. The moment outside the caboose had been intense. In one rapid heartbeat his eyes and his punishing grasp had turned from fury to desire, his fingers pressing less cruelly, his eyes softening, and she felt a current between them; it was unlike anything else she'd ever experienced. She'd wanted him; and as innocent as she was if he had tried to hold her against him or even to kiss her, she'd have let him.

But he'd denied these feelings, ignored this impulse, and she was glad of it. If he had pressed her, she'd have given him anything, this large, unusual man, with his cruel nature. She didn't know herself when he was near her; she didn't trust her body, or her frantically beating heart.

He was gone now, leaving Nora to her overwhelming thoughts. Nora remembered Lilly mentioning that a senator Crane of Illinois, one of Durant's investors was coming to see the project that morning, and Durant was planning to use the recent influx of Indian attacks to negotiate for more money. The Swede would have been a part of the welcoming party as Durant's Chief of Security. Lilly had said that Crane had wanted to meet with the Cheyenne to negotiate a peace between the 'peoples of the west'. She was afraid of seeing the men that might have killed her mother, her brother, and his family. What if they recognized her; what if seeing them brought unbidden memories or feelings to mind?

Durant had requested that Nora be present for his welcome luncheon with the senator; as she, like Lilly, represented the physical cost of the attacks made on the entrepreneurs and explorers of the west; he thought her trials might play on the heartstrings of the senator, and more importantly, the newspapermen present. Nora wore the same dark blue dress she had the night before; simple cotton, with a cream petticoat, borrowed from Lilly.

Nora met Lilly outside the caboose and they walked slowly towards their lunch guests. "Nora, I wanted to tell you myself, I have decided to go to Chicago in a few days. Have you come to a decision about whether or not you'll stay?"

"For now, I'll stay. Perhaps, I'll go back to Lincoln. It seemed pleasant enough and that's where my family is buried. It would be nice to be near them. I suppose I can go wherever I want now."

"I'm sure you'll make a wise decision. Perhaps if you'll let me speak with Mr. Durant about providing you some money to travel with, he could assist you in establishing yourself somewhere-"

Nora quickly squeezed Lilly's hand, which was gripped tightly around her the crook of her arm. "Lilly, you've done so much. I don't think I'll ever be able to repay your kindness."

"We are single women; alone in the world. If we do not take care of each other, who can we depend on?" Their laughter was sad; Nora would miss Lilly frightfully; she would feel very alone without her in Hell on Wheels. The time was coming for her to make a decision concerning her future.

Nora followed little of what Durant was saying during lunch. She heard Senator Cole speak of the Cheyenne delegation that would be joining them in Hell on Wheels, and of the progress Durant had made with the railroad. There was talk of payroll and of stock prices, but Nora could process none of it. She wondered where Thor was, if he had thought about their encounter the previous evening. She found it difficult to think of anything else.

Thor sat at his desk, deep in thought. He would find a way to extricate Miss. Boelter from his life. He would put an end to her temptation. Thor had learned long ago to control his physical urges, thus enabling him to influence other men by manipulate their weaknesses, utilizing their frailty, their base instincts. But this woman, with hair like fire, with translucent skin, could bring him, shaking, to his knees. He nearly lost control the night before; his heart pounding, his fingers twitching, it took every ounce of control he had not to drag her to the floor of his caboose and take her. He burned for her. There was only one solution: he would banish this girl-Freya, from his town. He would regain the control he felt slipping through his fingers.

He knew how to achieve this goal. He would negotiate for something that mattered far more to him than any gold or silver coins: information.

The Swede stood outside of his caboose as Senator Crane stopped to relieve himself.

"Would you like to hold it for me, or do you have some information?" The senator continued to puff on his cigar nonchalantly.

"Mr. Durant has taken private funds from the railroad; for his personal use."

"How much, and for what?"

"One hundred forty seven thousand dollars; he's speculating on railroad stock."

As Crane buttoned his trousers he reached inside his waistcoat pocket for cash.

"Money is not necessary this time."

"Oh?"

"I would like information instead."

Looking over his shoulder the senator breathed impatiently, "What do you mean?"

"There's a man named, Harper; a former union soldier. Sergeant Frank Harper, I believe. He used to work for us. He run off, I'd like to know where he is."

Crane scoffed, "How am I supposed to find him?"

"I heard, Sergeant Harper hails from your home state of Illinois. Matter of fact, he still has family that reside in the city of Chicago."

As Crane turned to leave, bringing his cigar to his mouth, "Frank Harper, well I'll have my people-

"I suspect this request will be slightly more difficult to fulfill, but I would also like to know the whereabouts of a Declan Boelter of New York City. He's an Irish immigrant, who come to the city in 1830."

"Mr. Swede, how do you expect me to-"

"I am always amazed by your resourcefulness, Senator." The Swede clicked his tongue and turned to enter the caboose, leaving Crane staring dumfounded into the distance. He took another puff of his cigar before he turned back to the Pullman.

Nora and Lilly had decided to walk together that afternoon. Lilly was taking a train east. Leaving Hell on Wheels; leaving Nora.

The two women walked arm in arm. Lilly sensed Nora's distance, and asked, as she had on other occasions, if the Swede had been treating her well, if she was happy sharing his quarters, if she felt well. Nora was tactful, and answered carefully, more guarded of her answers on this walk than others. As they neared the church tent Lilly unlaced her arm from Nora's and she walked swiftly to where the Foreman, Mr. Bohannon stood nearby. There were several Indian women and children within, listening to a sermon. Nora stood and waited. She watched Lilly's head turn sharply as she made a dash for the hat one of the Indian women was wearing, she began to scream hysterically, that it was her husband's hat the woman was wearing. She knew then that this group of Cheyenne was related to those that had initiated the attack.

In that moment, Nora wished she had seen the men that attacked her encampment, that she had seen the braves that killed her family. She doubted she'd ever have a dreamless sleep again if she had, but she felt like a coward having run without looking back. She wished she had someone to blame, someone to bare her rage, to hate for taking those she loved most. The Foreman grabbed Lilly, he soothed her shaking body, and when she was able to stand without his support, she yelled angrily at the Preacher's man, Joseph. It was his people who had attacked Lilly's party, that killed her husband. Lilly stalked off angrily, announcing that she would tell Durant that the group responsible was there. Bohannon explained to her that the innocent would die with the guilty. Lilly's eyes filled with tears and she shakily took Nora's arm as they walked away.

As the women neared the Pullman they saw the townspeople gathering around the tracks. Lilly directed them closer to Mr. Bohannon, "What is this all about"

"Seems an injun's going to race the train back to town."

There was to be a race; a brave against the mighty Union Pacific Railroad. The events of this parlay, of this race occupied everyone in Hell on Wheels' thoughts, except for Nora. Thor's imposing presence occupied her thoughts, made her doubt and question everything she thought she understood about herself, made her precarious situation feel all the more precarious.

He stood stock straight by the train, flag held tightly in his hand. He carefully avoided eye contact, purposely keeping his gaze locked on Durant and Cole; he would give her no satisfaction, no understanding of their encounter the night before. Perhaps he felt nothing, maybe that was a mere moment of temptation for him, but he felt nothing for her beyond that. He knew she was watching him; he had to.

That evening, the Swede did not come back to the caboose to take his dinner; she ate alone, in silence, the light from the candle casting shadows on the walls. She dressed for bed, and lay there quietly for what felt like an eternity.

Seeing Lilly's display at the church tent had frightened Nora. Lilly was always cool and confident, unshakeable in the face of unspeakably tragedy. Nora could lie still in that quiet caboose no longer. She decided to go to the tavern; she would sit and listen to music, and watch people dance, anything would be better than this deafening silence.

She walked into the saloon and sat near the door. She didn't order a drink, she just sat and listened to the men at the bar. They wanted to go after the braves, to kill the savages. Bohannon stood in front of the door, blocking their exit; threatening their lives if they chose to strike.

The Swede approached the crowd of men from behind. He walked around them, past Nora's table, his black cloak brushing against the skirts of her petticoat.

"There still only two a ye"

The Swede smiled, "Oh, no. I'd count again."

The man looked around, noticing all of the Swede's men around the saloon.

The Irishman turned his attention toward Nora, surprising everyone in the saloon, including her. "Mr. Swede, is this not the young woman you have personally taken under your protection?"

The Swede did not look at her, nor did he respond, he just stared the drunk man down. "Has this fair lass not been in your care for weeks now? Were her people not struck down by those unruly savages? Do you really expect us to do nothing in the face of such injustice?"

The Swede moved closer, and with a warning tone cleared his throat, "you see, it is important to Mr. Durant that the injuns remain unharmed. I'm sure you boys could find some amusement here in town."

The men sullenly left the saloon. The Swede had watched her enter; he wondered if she expected him to berate her again, if she was testing him. He said nothing, he paid no attention to her. He watched her closely as she fled the tavern. He wondered if she felt the way he did; if she understood his distance, if she resented it, or if she was thankful to have it.

Nora cried herself to sleep that evening. Lilly would be leaving the next morning with Durant, the Swede whom she had established something resembling a friendship, would not speak to her and could not suffer to be in her presence, and the only other man that extended any welcome or kindness to her, she was forbidden from speaking to. She didn't know what else she could do.

The Swede entered the caboose hours after she'd gone inside. He knew she'd be asleep. He closed the door silently and took off his heavy coat and hat. He sat on his cot and removed his boots, watching her back rise slowly with each breath she took in deep sleep. He wanted to caress her curved shoulder blades, visible against the white of the sheet. He wanted to kiss the exposed skin on either side of her plait; he could see tiny curls escaping it, he wanted to touch them, his fingers twitched to do so. He felt himself burning every time he thought of her; his skin tingled, his breath quickened, he felt control slipping away slowly, he willed her to turn over; hoping he'd be able to see the swell of her breasts pressing against her nightgown, dusky pink nipples jutting out against the cool linen. He slipped beneath his sheet, and squeezed his eyes shut. He would find out where her uncle was and he would send her away, he would send this temptress far from him. Her presence would no longer consume his thoughts or enflame his treacherous body.


	10. Ti

Author's Note/Disclaimer:

I don't own Hell on Wheels or any of the characters created by Joe and Tony Gayton.

Ti

Nora had hoped that the Swede's morning ablutions would wake her, rather than the whistle of the train at the platform. He was gone. No doubt to guarantee he would not have to see her. This morning she didn't want to think about him, didn't want to feel sadness at his absence in the caboose. She had to see her friend off. She dressed quickly, carelessly pinning her hair atop her head. She raced out of the train car, her feet sinking into the mud as she headed for the platform.

Lilly was already there with Durant. He was dictating to two men quickly taking notes, moving swiftly towards the locomotive. Lilly's eyes searched the crowd of people nearby. As she spotted Nora running for the platform she grinned. The women embraced, and Lilly stroked the hair that escaped her bun away from Nora's face, tears filled Nora's eyes; she had expected it to be difficult to say goodbye.

Durant boarded the train as the foreman Bohannon stepped closer to say goodbye. Nora stepped back and watched the exchange; intrigued by the obvious attraction the couple shared and yet denied. Moments later they all turned to see the tattooed woman running up the platform, "They're going to hang him!" She was yelling. Bohannon could barely decipher what she was saying. She explained that the Irishmen had caught she and Elam together. Nora gathered this was the man Bohannon had been fighting. They hadn't killed him for beating a white man in a fight, but this indiscretion they could not abide; they were going to kill him. Bohannon told her to go to the Swede, he was Durant's chief of security. Nora's heart leapt when Eva explained it was the Swede that sanctioned the hanging.

Bohannon shook his head in disgust, and was off. Durant impatiently called Lilly inside; she gripped a distraught Nora one more time as she boarded to train. Not recognizing the turmoil in which she was leaving her friend. Eva turned accusingly at Nora. "You're no better than me. You sleep with that bastard every night….you're no better than me". With that, Eva left Nora standing alone on the platform.

Nora was bereft. She found it impossible to believe that Thor would sanction the killing of a man, guilty only of bedding a willing whore, based solely on a difference of color. It was inexcusable and Nora felt her heart pounding, could feel blood rush to her face and chest, could hear it thrumming through her ears. She didn't know where to turn; Durant was gone, Lilly was gone, Bohannon was this man Elam's, only hope. There was nothing she could do but confront the man with whom she feared confrontation.

Nora walked briskly to the caboose. She climbed the steps and pushed the door open without ceremony.

Thor glanced in her direction; taking in her flushed appearance, her heavy breathing, the long strands of red hair escaping the knot of hair on the top of her head. He observed her briefly, then, inflaming her temper he looked back down at the work on his desk, ignoring her heavily breathing form.

She approached his desk in a fit and slammed her hands down on top of it. Demanding his attention. He merely leaned back in his chair, hands folded, and stared at her expectantly.

"Can I help you, Miss Boelter?"

Nora barely concealed her shocked gasp, breathlessly she mimicked his accented question, voice quaking in rage and fear, she asked incredulously, "can you help, me?"

"No, Thor. You cannot help me. You can help the poor colored man you've allowed your _white_ employees to string up. Was that what you meant last night when you said 'some _amusement_ in town'?"

Thor swallowed hard, and cleared his throat to speak. "I think you are worrying yourself with things that don't concern you, Miss Boelter."

"This kind of behavior is what started The War, Thor! How could you have suffered the way you did, only to allow the perpetuation of torture due to nothing but the color of a man's skin. It's despicable!"

The Swede stood abruptly. "You go too far, Miss. Boelter. You speak of things you do not understand. The task of keeping the peace in this place comes with a cost, sometimes there must be blood in exchange for peace. I would think after The War that would be something you would understand."

"I know that my father taught my brother and I to treat all men equally; that color wasn't reason to hate; and never reason to maim or kill".

"Your father, _the rebel_? He taught you about equality? Yet he fought and died for slavery, ya? A confederate soldier? It is easy to pass judgments on the decisions other men are forced to make. Your father understood that; he gave his life for the rebel cause; he encouraged your brother to give his."

Tears began streaming down Nora's face before the Swede finished his tirade. "Now you speak of things you don't understand, Mr. Swede."

Thor walked to where his black coat hung by the door. He reached into the pocket and gripped a small piece of paper tightly in his hand. As he turned he held it out to Nora.

Her hand shook as she reached for the slip of paper, confused.

"You and I have come to an impasse, Miss Boelter. It would be inappropriate for me to have you here now that you are well. And perhaps, more inappropriate, for you to stay with no chaperone or protector."

"I can take care of myself, Mr. Swede. I'll take in laundry, I'll work-"she pushed the slip of paper open with a shaking thum.

On the slip was a hastily scrawled address: Declan Boelter. "How did you-"

"This is the only family you have left, it behooves me to encourage you to go to him. To New York." Thor loomed over her, impressing his point with his intimidating stature.

"You did this without my permission, Thor."

"Ya. But with good intention."

"And if I don't go?"

"I tell you before. The women taking in laundry are whores, Nora. With no protection, this will be your fate."

Nora turned her back on the Swede and began quickly gathering the few things Lilly had given her into a small bag; she turned to leave.

"There is no train for New York leaving today."

"I will not suffer your presence for one more moment."

The Swede said nothing, merely clicked his tongue to register the insult had made impact as she had desired. "Where will you go?"

"It would be inappropriate for me to tell you that, considering I am no longer in your care, sir." It stung that Thor had not tried harder to stop her, that after all of his concern he would let her sleep in the muddy streets of Hell on Wheels.

"You are a coward, Thor." And with that; she slammed the door and left him standing in his caboose.

Nora approached Durant's Pullman. And knocked tearfully at the door. Durant's man Henri opened the door with a rifle in his hand.

"Henri, with Mrs. Bell's departure, I am struck by the unavoidable fact that I am alone here. I've decided to depart on the 11 o'clock train for New York tomorrow; and I'm afraid I find it impossible to reside with Mr. Gundersen for one more night."

Henri put down his rifle and stepped aside, "We are all alone here, Mademoiselle. You may sleep in Mrs. Bell's compartment. No doubt Monsieur Durant would not disallow this."

Nora sat at Lilly's vanity, brushing out her hair, studying her tear stained face. She was grateful Henri did not ask why she would be spending her last night in Hell on Wheels away from the Swede. She did not want to spend one more moment considering his hurtful tone or shameful treatment.

Bohannon had freed the negro. That man had a way of disrupting every one of Thor's plans. He walked around the saloon studying the dead men.

"Sure is a stupid lookin' spud muncher, i'nt he?"

"Have some respect for the dead, Mr. Bolan. In the end when all is said and done, all we really own is our death. It is given us the moment we're born; we carry that burden the best we can. I seen men die screamin' and I seen men die without nary a peep."

The Swede sat across from Mr. Toole at the table. "Now, this hanging of yours went not so well."

"He was as good as dead until 'Jonny Reb' came burstin' in here."

"And what do you propose to do about it?"

Silence.

"Well, this brigand, this rebel, has upset the balance once again; and he must be dealt with".

"I still don't follow".

"Why does that not surprise me? You, must pursue Bohannon."

"Me?"

"Ya."

"I don't know nothin' about warfare and such."

"Eh now, you created this mess, and you'll clean it up or die tryin'"

"I'll not do it."

The Swede could not abide being questioned again. First Nora, denying his reasoning for sending her away and now this Irish drunkard, with the last shreds of his composure slipping through his fingers the Swede stabbed at Toole's face with the fork he was holding.

"All of you that was involved in this hanging, will accompany Mr. Toole on his noble quest."

The Swede stood and walked out of the saloon, breathing hard, heart racing. He stared hard at Durant's Pullman, he knew within moments of Nora's dramatic exit where she had chosen to go. He would not see her harmed on her last night in the town; he had his ways of gleaning this information. As the sun set his body ached for her, his hands trembled with want; unfulfilled lust; and he wished to have her thick red plait resting against his pillow again, and her pale chest peeking out from beneath his sheets.

This was for the best; she would be gone. No more temptation, no more confusion.

Thor mumbled once to himself before he fell asleep in his own cot, still smelling her skin on his sheets, "Farvel, min Freya".

The next morning, Nora dressed quickly and packed her small bag. It seemed odd she had entered this railway town in such a devastating fashion, and she was leaving in silence, no one to bid her farewell, no one to kiss goodbye. It was a bittersweet feeling, she did not know what awaited her in New York.

She swallowed hard at the lump forming in her throat as she gazed out the compartment window; blinking away the tears that burned behind her eyes; she had been strong throughout her ordeal, the loss of her family, she would remember that strength and embody it now. She'd boarded the train to New York at 10:45.

So there she sat; hoping Thor would have tried to catch a glimpse of her before she left, but he wasn't there. Nora would never see him again; she hadn't loved him, but her heart still ached for him, her strange friend. In time she thought she might understand why he'd sent her away.

Perhaps, she thought, she should thank him.


End file.
